


Debriefing

by disdainfullady



Series: Pretend Married Telepathic Spy AU [3]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, it's back, pretend married telepathic spy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfullady/pseuds/disdainfullady
Summary: Pretend married telepathic spies.  Now they have bosses who want answers to things.  If only they could stop snarking at each other long enough to answer them...





	

 

The day had not gotten off to a particularly auspicious start.  After writing up their notes on the Sturenko job, V had chosen to disclose to management the origin of the so-called bikini justice viral video, on the theory that any repercussions would be worse if they had sat on the issue. 

He had argued contrariwise – per the usual - and lost – also per the usual – and was now getting far less joy than expected from his “I told you so song.”  Perhaps it was because the venue did not allow for the obligatory dancing.

I _might get more joy of it if you could actually carry a tune.  And I never said it was going to be pleasant to tell them.  I said it would be worse if we didn’t and they found out.  And in that,_ I _was right, so remind me I have an ‘I told you so’ dance of my own coming._

He was torn between seeking elaboration on exactly what said dance would entail and pointing out that her congratulatory celebration rested on an unprovable premise – she could not establish that it would be worse if they had waited because they hadn’t done so.  She hadn’t done so.  Which was why they were currently awaiting an interrogation from people who specialized in making them painful.

That the summons had come not from their usual handler, M, but from her superior, W, was troubling. The handsome young agent still bore a scar from one of W’s training sessions, and that had been designed to teach, not punish. 

_You’re not all that young anymore, sugar bear._

He was however still ridiculously handsome, despite the scar. 

_Yes dear._

The two of them awkwardly took their seats in a pair of torture instruments disguised as chairs.  Ergonomically designed to render the human form uncomfortable in all its aspects, they also sat slightly below optimal height for the desk they faced, forcing them to look up at their superior with all the authority of children dragged to the principal’s office. 

Agent W was a tall man, but not generally a physically imposing one.  Impeccably groomed without ever veering over into fastidiousness, he looked like he should be standing at the front of a classroom, or correcting the sommelier at a wine tasting, or spouting overly pretentious pabulum at a book club. What was truly striking was what he did not look like.  He did not look like one of the deadliest agents in the history of the unit, that is, until one looked him in the eyes.  His partner had once snagged a copy of W’s file, and the things he’d done for Kane Enterprises boggled the mind.

_Wine tastings and book clubs and looking in his eyes, huh?  If you’re planning to ask W out, I won’t stand in the way, but I have to say, I think he’s more the skydiving type._

If his partner would just discuss the metaphorical angst of The Very Hungry Caterpillar with him, then he wouldn’t need to look for that connection elsewhere.  He tended to think it was the manifestation of some sort of deep seated internal void.

_Possibly that.  Or it could be a picture book._

But then it could also be self-loathing and body image issues.   And, of course, that just raised all new questions about the ending.  Should one be happy that the caterpillar achieved his goal or distraught that he had to so fundamentally change himself, and couldn’t see the beauty in in his larval stage?

W glared at both of them, and though they knew perfectly well that the mindlink was limited to partners only, it didn’t fully quell the instinctive guilt of being caught talking in class.

_The day I feel guilty for thinking is the day I get out of this racket, so speak for yourself._

He always did. 

_Yeah, for you and me and everyone else.  Do you ever get tired of listening to your own voice?_

L resented that.  Here he was, providing a rich and colorful commentary to their lives, the fulfilling sort of commentary that looked great on a shelf or coffee table, that could cut through the hood of a car and yet was still sharp enough to slice a tomato, and all he got in return was this constant negativity acting as a shackle for his creativity.

“Enough.” 

W spoke quietly, but the word reverberated like a bell in the frayed balls of nerves they had been reduced to.  The young agent did not jump out of his chair at the sound, but leaned forward aggressively, that his superior might connect the forward movement with his level of engagement.

_Sure, he did._

_And how does a bell reverberate in a ball of anything?  I don’t think you are thinking these metaphors through._

Feeling like the situation called for something more than simple nonverbal cues, he dug deep within his psyche for the appropriate response.

“I apologize, sir, for the both of us, but would like to point out that the video is all her fault.”

_Oh, my god.  Are you five years old?_

In the context of their relationship, that question did not reflect particularly well on his partner or her predilections, which he hoped she realized.

W watched their silent tennis match with the air of someone who preferred hockey.

_Cuter clothes versus practically league sanctioned ability to knock the smirk off your face.  I think I prefer hockey too._

“Who would like to go first?”

V cocked her head to the side as she faced her superior.  It was her customary pose, the one that said she was far too adorable to be threatening.  She was, in fact, adorable, but that did not render the latter half of the thought process any less ridiculous.

“Sir, our mission was a success.  We got the intel on Sturenko, and I uploaded the ghost program into their system.  Entry, exit, you couldn’t hope for a cleaner mission.  And yet somehow I feel like you’re not ready to pat us on the back and congratulate us on a job well done.”

Agent W rested his chin on steepled fingers, his face impassive.

“Remarkably astute of you.”

Somehow it felt like the man wasn’t playing his part right.  L put it down to word choice.  Astute?  If anything, W should have been talking about how he had to ‘drag their asses in here’ and demanding their guns and badges.

_We don’t carry badges._

Perhaps not, but he was pretty sure he still had a plastic star somewhere that said sheriff on it.

_Dad will be so flattered to know you kept it._

L was still troubled by his superior’s affect.  He wished to be able to storm out in a fury of righteous indignation.  Not that he was planning it, exactly, but it would be good to have the option.  How could he possibly storm out if his boss was being calm and reasonable and using words like astute?  It was as if Hollywood had been lying all this time.

 _It’s okay honey, just focus on the Easter bunny_. 

And the fact that it should really be an Easter chicken. She was right, that would keep him distracted. 

W’s patience with their eternal mental tête-à-tête had apparently worn thin, and he slid a tablet across the desk.

“Do either of you have an explanation for this?”

She glanced briefly down at the tablet.  “Sir, I can’t claim any responsibility for Apple’s design decisions.”

“I want to know why I’m looking at a viral video of one of my agents throwing a civilian to the ground on a mission where they were explicitly told to leave no fingerprints.”  W took a sip of his tea.

Tea.  He was definitely playing the part wrong.  Someone really needed to talk to the man about how to embrace a cultural stereotype.

“It tells me that you too succumb to the allure of clickbait, sir.  Believe me, none of us are immune.”

W huffed a sigh that was probably his equivalent of a ten minute screaming session.  “Did I mistakenly give the impression I was amused just now?”

Agent W was widely believed to only have one expression, so the question was ambiguous at best. 

His partner sighed and pushed the tablet back across the table, not even bothering to check whether her hit count had topped the baby panda yawning.

“It was an unrelated incident, sir.  We were at the beach, hence my attire, and some idiot spring breaker thought stealing my cell phone would be a good idea.  I proved him wrong.  There is nothing in this incident to connect either of us to the agency, and I highly doubt anyone will be able to identify me from a video that is ninety percent shot from behind.”

In this she was wrong, but then he did spend more time studying the subject matter than most.

_I’m ignoring that._

He could probably write a book on the subject, in fact.

She barreled forward.  “You only know it’s me because I informed you once I caught wind of it, purely in the interest of full disclosure.  We are in no way compromised.”

W cracked his neck with a reflexive ease that made L suddenly worry for his own.

“Regardless, I want you off the Barcelona job.”

“You’re benching me?”  It was difficult to say whether his partner’s outrage was real or feigned.  Possibly it was a combination of the two.  She’d never be happy to lose an assignment, even one she hadn’t wanted in the first place. 

She did not helpfully chime in with any clarification, though the narrative structure practically demanded it.

_I am not helping clarify your narrative.  Now be quiet, I need to focus._

As though he was somehow a distracting person.

“I’m benching both of you.  For at least a month.”

Their boss was widely overestimating the lifecycle of a viral video, even one featuring a polka-dotted bikini, but it wouldn’t do to inform him.

“Who’s replacing us in Barcelona?“

W ignored her, which was wise.  It wasn’t like there was an answer that wouldn’t make her apoplectic.

“When I asked for the time off two months ago, you told me Barcelona was a vital mission.  Are you really sending second stringers in our place?” 

Her voice was doing that high pitched angry thing he usually spent hours trying to get out of her.  He was almost offended to hear her using it on someone else.

_Don’t worry about it, I can definitely yell at you later._

“I might be a few years out of the field, but I don’t consider myself the second string,” W remarked.

“You’re taking the job?”

“Like, I told you.  It’s vital.”

He could practically see the gears whirling in her overactive brain.  If Barcelona was that important, then she wanted it.

_Are you telling me you don’t?_

He thought it might do well to remember that they had spent the past six weeks trying to get freed up from that job. 

_But-_

If he wasn’t careful, she’d talk them back into the field before W finished his tea.  He decided to take the reins.

“So, I guess that means you can approve our time off then?”

W raised one eyebrow, something he must have practiced in the mirror.  Not that his own practicing had ever yielded results.  “You just embarrassed the agency and you want a vacation?”

“Is the agency embarrassed, sir?”  She asked, abruptly back on his side, needles in her voice, her head once again tilted.  He wasn’t even sure she knew she was doing it.

_It’s not my fault I’m more adorable than you are._

W remained impassive.  It was nice that some things remained reliable.

“Because if the agency is embarrassed by a woman physically defending herself from a stranger’s assault, well, that might affect my comfort level in working here.”  She turned her glare up to threat level five.

Neither V nor W gave way.  It was like watching a staring contest between statues.  He decided to step in again before it erupted in violence or another cup of tea.

“To clarify sir, are we in any way being reprimanded for the events of the video?”

W turned away from V and toward him.

_I won.  That makes it eight-three in my favor._

Because of course she kept score.

“We will not be taking any at this time, no.”

“Then if the only reason our previous request was denied was because we were needed on a mission we’re no longer needed for…”

W looked long at him, and he tried to match his partner’s ability to glare down the sun.  “Very well, I’ll approve the request.”

He was a hero, pure and simple.

“You’ll need to clarify with M exactly when she needs you back on assignment.”  He turned to V, who was wearing the slightly disappointed expression she always wore when she got her way, because it meant the fight was over.  “And the next time you do get sent out, there had better not be any footage of your bikini-clad ass online.  Am I understood?”

It was a trifle belated, but he was relieved to know their asses were finally getting their due.  They stood to leave

_My ass, thank you.  I heard nary a word about yours._

As if he couldn’t put on a turquoise bikini and wind up on Buzzfeed just as easily.

_I have no doubt about that._

He could choose to be insulted, but instead he merely marveled that they’d somehow arranged the honeymoon time they’d wanted with very little inconvenience to either of them.  Perhaps he should send a thank you note to the videographer.

She laughed.

_Already done._

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on Death of a Bright Young Thing, but I had to write Duncan and it annoyed me, so I wrote spies instead. This particular bit is inspired by the "bikini cop" story of a Swedish officer who took down some pickpockets in what was decidedly her off hours last summer.


End file.
